


Guilty Secret

by Dazzlious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10106846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzlious/pseuds/Dazzlious
Summary: Healer, Melissa Carpenter, has just transferred from St Mungo's to Cadenza, an expensive private hospital which caters to the wealthy of the wizarding world. But just what is the secret of the long-term patient hidden away at the back of the hospital?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so. Original characters are mine, and resemble no one I know, living or dead.
> 
> Author’s Note: This story includes an AU reworking of the trio’s time in Malfoy Manor. I have tried to keep the elements canon where possible but have had to change certain things in order for it to fit the story better. 
> 
> ***WARNING*** This story includes character death.

Melissa Carpenter looked at her reflection in the mirror, checking critically to make sure she looked perfect. In five minutes she would be starting her first shift at the Cadenza facility. It was her first job since qualifying as a Healer and she wanted to be as confident as she could be.

Not that she was scared. She was fully qualified, and if she was honest she didn’t feel that Cadenza would present much of a challenge compared to the four years she had spent interning at St Mungo’s in London. But she knew first impressions counted, and she wanted people to think of her as professional and capable.

She pulled a hairbrush out of her handbag and used it to tidy her shoulder-length brown hair. Then she pulled off her glasses and cleaned them with a cloth from the inside pocket of the bag. Replacing both, she took one more glance in the mirror. She was ready to go.

Melissa stepped out of the door from the toilet and headed towards the reception area. Having given her name to the receptionist she took a seat by the window and looked out through the glass to the vast expanse of garden, gazing with interest at the flower borders which were a riot of colour in the early morning sunlight. Cadenza was nothing like St Mungo’s that was for sure.

The inner-city hospital was disguised by an ugly-looking disused department store. Cadenza, out in the middle of the country in a predominantly wizarding area needed no such concealment charms. The few Muggles in the area believed the facility was a private house, owned by a very wealthy and even more eccentric family who liked to keep to themselves and discouraged visitors.

Of course, when your patients were the cream of the wizarding world you could afford beautiful decor and spectacular gardens. Melissa had no idea what the budget for Cadenza was, but she was willing to bet it was substantially more than St Mungo’s was used to operating on.

She was drawn back to the room by the arrival of a tall, thin balding man dressed in a navy blue robe. Melissa stood up as Healer Willoughby, head of the facility, made his way towards her.

‘Healer Carpenter . . . Melissa?’ Healer Willoughby’s hand shot out to grasp Melissa’s firmly as she nodded. ‘Come with me. We’ll talk in my office.’

Healer Willoughby released her hand and turned back the way he had come, walking at a brisk pace. Melissa set off after him. With her shorter legs, she almost had to run to keep up with the lanky man. A few minutes later they arrived at his office, soon settling inside. Healer Willoughby rang a bell and requested tea from the house-elf that appeared.

Once the tea had arrived and been poured, Healer Willoughby looked across his desk at Melissa, then down at a file on the desktop, then back up at Melissa once more.

‘Melissa, it’s a real pleasure to have you working here,’ he said sincerely. ‘I see you got top marks in your exams and glowing reports from Healer Woodworthy; very impressive indeed. I’m not surprised you chose to come to Cadenza rather than continue at St Mungo’s. Cadenza does have a certain reputation, and of course, we take only the very best.’

Melissa took a sip of her tea before replying. ‘To be honest, I had initially intended to stay at St Mungo’s,’ she stated truthfully. ‘Unfortunately, circumstances meant that I had to change my plans, and Cadenza fitted in with my new ones.’

Healer Willoughby nodded his head understandingly. ‘Whatever the reason, we’re pleased to have you working here. Of course, things are a little different here at Cadenza. The majority of our patients are long-term, and we prefer to refer to them as guests. It makes them feel more comfortable, we find.’

He looked smilingly at Melissa again. ‘All our guests have their own rooms, each decorated in a way that makes them happy. Most are able to move freely around the facility to some degree, to visit the gardens and so forth. However, there are a few who are contained. They still have their own rooms and can conduct as normal a life as they want, but they would need attendants with them if they wished to leave. Fortunately, in most cases, these guests have neither the desire nor the ability to leave their rooms.’

After they finished their tea, Healer Willoughby offered to take Melissa on a tour of the facility so she could meet the guests. Melissa smiled as she stood. This was the bit she had been looking forward to; getting to know the patients — sorry, guests — and finding out about their histories. That was the bit that always interested her the most.

The next two hours were spent walking around the hospital as she was introduced to staff and guests alike. Healer Willoughby had thoughtfully provided Melissa with a map so she could find her way later when she was alone, and as she walked she studied it intently, trying to match map to the location and lock them into her brain.

They were now in the restricted area, the part of the hospital that held the guests who were too ill to move around freely. Melissa had looked in on the ICU, which was currently housing four guests: one was the unfortunate victim of a curse; one was unconscious, although the Healers had not yet been able to establish why; and two were recovering from life-saving surgeries.

Next were the recovery rooms, which were quite well populated with a variety of guests and illnesses; and then, almost at the very back of the facility, were large suites of rooms which appeared to be unoccupied.

‘There’s only one guest in here at the moment,’ Healer Willoughby said gravely, ‘and he’s a long-term one at that. He’s been here for twenty-two years.’

Melissa frowned. What on earth could be wrong with the man that he had been kept locked away for so long? Had he been seriously injured by spell damage? St Mungo’s had a few of those, including one who had, apparently, been a famous writer at one time, and Professor Longbottom’s parents.

Healer Willoughby un-warded the outer door and opened it, indicating that Melissa should enter. She did so, looking around her with curiosity. They were in a long corridor. Melissa waited while the Healer re-warded the door then followed him down the corridor.

‘As I said, Mr Malfoy has been here for a number of years,’ Healer Willoughby said as they walked. ‘He lives quite comfortably, in a large suite of rooms which keep him away from the rest of the facility.’

They had arrived at another door. Next to it was a large window that looked in on a comfortable sitting room decorated in a modern if somewhat Muggle style. Sitting in a large armchair facing the window was a very handsome middle-aged man with short blond hair. His eyes were closed. Either he was asleep or he was contemplating something extremely deeply if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Melissa studied the man closely. Although he was pale and thin he didn’t appear to be sick; at least there were no outward signs of obvious illness.

‘Draco Malfoy’s malady is very much a mental one,’ Healer Willoughby said gently; as if reading Melissa’s thoughts. He seemed to be looking fondly at the slumbering man. He turned to Melissa. ‘Draco was brought here in early April 1998. His family had him committed in order to keep him from being sent to Azkaban prison.’

Melissa looked back at the man in the chair. ‘Committed? What did he do?’

‘Are you old enough to remember the second rise of the Dark wizard Voldemort and his Death Eaters?’ Healer Willoughby asked quietly.

Melissa shrugged. ‘Vaguely. To be honest, I was still at Junior School and there weren’t any Death Eaters in our area. I only really know what I learnt during history lessons at Hogwarts.’

‘Where did you live?’ Healer Willoughby asked interestedly.

‘Near Ottery St Catchpole.’

‘Ah yes, a good wizarding area and a bastion of the Order of the Phoenix,’ Healer Willoughby said approvingly. ‘Very quiet, I should imagine.’

‘You could say that,’ Melissa said with a grin. ‘That’s why I wanted to work at St Mungo’s. I couldn’t wait to get to London and the bright city lights.’

‘No different from many young witches and wizards,’ Healer Willoughby said understandingly. ‘But of course, you were lucky to have the freedom to choose what you wanted to do. That would never have happened if Voldemort had remained in power — if Harry Potter hadn’t managed to defeat him.’

Melissa nodded. ‘I know that Harry saved our world,’ she said seriously. ‘But I don’t understand how this has anything to do with Mr Malfoy.’

Healer Willoughby looked into the room for a moment as if debating what to say, then turned back to Melissa. ‘As I said, Draco was committed by his family on 4th April 1998. They were unwilling to say why they were committing him, although he was obviously in shock.

‘I’m sure you understand, Melissa, that Cadenza has always catered to families like the Malfoys. Those old, monied Pure-blood families who always seem to have a mentally deficient member somewhere in their line, usually down to too much interbreeding.’ Melissa nodded. ‘It was considered by the then Head of Facility that Draco was obviously one such young man, so he was placed in the secure part of Cadenza without any further explanation being required from the family.

‘Later, the Aurors came to visit Cadenza. They demanded to see Draco, wanting to question him about the death of a young woman who had been in his company earlier in the evening. From what I understand the Malfoys were Death Eaters and over a period of time they, along with their brethren, had abducted a number of Muggle-borns, although for what purpose I’m not entirely sure.’ Healer Willoughby looked a little uneasy. ‘This young woman, a contemporary of Draco’s from school, was amongst those who had been abducted. Whether they were a couple before that evening or had become lovers that night was never established. But what was certain was that she and Draco had been sexually intimate just prior to her death.

‘The Aurors had been tipped off about a Dark revel and were given an entrance to Malfoy Manor. They had raided the Manor expecting to find a bunch of Death Eaters and their prey. What they found, instead, was a naked Draco Malfoy on the floor of his bedroom, holding onto the cold and lifeless, blood-soaked body of a young woman.’

Melissa gasped in shock. ‘Draco Malfoy was a murderer? But why was he sent here? Surely he should have been put straight into Azkaban?’

Healer Willoughby shrugged. ‘As I said, the Malfoys are an old and extremely rich family. As soon as they realised Draco had been caught they distracted the Aurors long enough to get him away. Once committed in here, the Aurors were unable to send him to Azkaban.’

‘But surely if they knew he did it they could get him removed from here?’

‘This facility is as secure as Azkaban, if somewhat more comfortable,’ Healer Willoughby said seriously. ‘Mr Malfoy has never left his rooms since that night. What purpose would be served by moving him to prison rather than keeping him here?’

‘But he killed a young woman,’ Melissa said in horror, ‘and raped her, too, from the sound of things.’

Healer Willoughby shook his head slowly. ‘There was no sign of force. The girl and Draco were lovers. It was assumed they had either had an argument that got out of hand and he had killed her accidentally or that he had been forced to kill her because she was Muggle-born.’

‘But still—’

‘I tell you, no purpose would have been served by removing him,’ Healer Willoughby said bluntly.

Draco Malfoy had awoken now and was looking towards the window where Melissa and Healer Willoughby were standing. Melissa could see the dark circles beneath his eyes and the taut, pale face that looked so much more stressed now that he was awake. For a moment she thought he looked as if he was about to cry. Had sleep brought a memory he didn’t like?

A moment later, though, the strained look was gone and a small smirk was playing on the man’s lips as he sat watching the two Healers through the window.  


	2. 30th March 1998

 

Hermione Granger screamed in agony as the Cruciatus Curse hit her once more. The mad witch Bellatrix Lestrange danced around her with a look of glee in her eyes. Ever since they had been brought to Malfoy Manor — and Hermione no longer had any idea of when that was; it could have been hours or days, so bad was her situation — she had been in the clutches of the mad woman whose only intention appeared to be to cause her as much pain as possible.

She didn’t think she could take much more. The pain was never-ending now. Even when the curse was removed her body continued to shake and contract as the muscles continued to react to the spell. Dimly, her mind turned to Neville’s parents, themselves cursed by the same witch. They had gone mad. Surely it was only a matter of time before she joined them.

Her breath came in gasps as the latest curse was removed and she rolled around the floor, tears of pain and despair streaming down her face in a torrent. Moaning quietly, she tried to open her eyes and look around. There was no chance of her escaping alone, but if Harry and Ron managed to find some way to help her then she needed to be ready.

A laugh cut through her thoughts, pulling her back into the room. Standing over her with a smug look on his face was Lucius Malfoy. It was he who had laughed.

‘Having fun, Bella?’ he asked in amusement. ‘What are you doing to her? Oh, the Cruciatus Curse. Very stylish.’

Hermione gazed up at Lucius balefully, knowing her eyes were full of tears that she would rather he didn’t see. But she couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t summon up the co-ordination to wipe them away, and couldn’t say anything to try to appeal to him to stop the pain.

‘I know she’s only a Mudblood, and Merlin knows I agree with what you’re doing but are you actually managing to get any information out of her?’ Lucius asked thoughtfully. ‘After all, I’m not sure the Dark Lord would be overly happy if she died or went mad without revealing anything at all.’

Bellatrix made a sound of annoyance as she trained her wand on Hermione once more. ‘She’ll talk,’ she said. ‘She just needs a little more convincing to open her mouth. _Crucio!_ ’

Hermione screamed as her body contorted once again. The pain really was on the verge of closing down her mind now. As if from a distance she felt the spell end and she grunted loudly as she collapsed face-down on the floor. The tears were still falling even though her eyes were closed now, and her nose was running.

Movement, apart from the involuntary twitching, was almost impossible and she wondered vaguely if she could even still speak. Certainly, she couldn’t imagine words tripping effortlessly off her tongue. Surely if Lucius really wanted to get information from her he would stop Bellatrix from continuing.

‘I think you should stop now,’ Lucius said; as if reading Hermione’s mind.

He looked down at the broken witch on the floor with a grim smile on his face then bent down to grab Hermione’s hair and turned her over onto her back. The blond man stared at her critically, a small moue of disgust crossing his face at the sight of the tears and the snot.

‘I’m not sure she’s in any fit state to talk, and if you continue she’s going to end up like the Longbottoms.’ Bellatrix looked unhappy at Lucius’ words, but the wizard was adamant. ‘Later, Bella,’ he said coolly. ‘At least give her a chance to recover a little, and then we’ll see how eager she is to talk.’

‘And if she won’t?’ Bellatrix asked, her wand still twitching towards Hermione.

Lucius ignored her, turning to his son who had been watching the action silently. ‘See how pathetic the Mudblood is?’ Lucius told Draco smugly. ‘Where’s her so-called magic now? Don’t you feel stupid for having been worried about her for all these years? I told you, these filthy Mudbloods are no match for real wizards.’      

Hermione groaned, her eyes now focussing on the younger man. Pale and stressed-looking, he didn’t seem to be happy to be there. Hermione forced her brain to think. Was there any chance Draco wasn’t as into this torture as Lucius thought? Was it possible that he might harbour even the slightest sympathy for her and her predicament? As she continued to look at him she saw the sly smirk that had so often graced his features at school cross his face. No. Whatever he may have been thinking, sympathy for her wasn’t it.

‘Have you had enough, Mudblood?’ Lucius asked. His voice sounded a little less harsh. ‘Are you going to talk to us, or shall I get Bella to loosen your tongue some more?’

Hermione gave the tiniest whimper; talking really was too hard. But panic that Lucius might once more give her to Bellatrix made her try.

‘Please . . .’ she croaked, her voice so low it almost disappeared in the stillness of the room.

‘She won’t talk,’ Bellatrix predicted confidently. ‘You might as well let me at her again. I tell you, another few bursts and she’ll be ready to do whatever we want.’

But Lucius had heard Hermione’s attempt at speech and silenced Bellatrix once more with a sharp wave of his hand. ‘Leave us,’ he told her. She opened her mouth as if to say something and Lucius glared at her angrily. ‘I said, leave us, Bella. You’ve done enough here for the time being.’

Looking sullen, the witch turned and stalked towards the door, clearly upset at being dismissed. Draco turned to follow.

‘Not you, Draco,’ Lucius said equally coldly. ‘You can stay here. It’ll be an education for you.’

Lucius pulled a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and threw it onto Hermione’s face.

‘Clean yourself up,’ he said with disdain. ‘You’re a mess and I refuse to talk to you in this state.’

Hermione tried to get her arm to move, to get the handkerchief off her face, to clean herself, but she was still shaking too much. Although her mind was protesting she tried to focus, tried to break through the pain. Eventually, she managed to grip the handkerchief with the tips of her fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, she succeeded in scrubbing at her face with the cloth before discarding it.

Lucius stared at her with undisguised hatred. ‘Unfortunately, dear Bella has been a little over-zealous with her questioning of you, I can see that. But I’m sure you’re eager to talk — once your voice has returned.’ He turned to Draco. ‘Get her up and follow me.’

Draco grabbed Hermione’s hair and one of her arms and awkwardly pulled her up from the floor. Hermione moaned in pain but didn’t resist. She couldn’t; she was still having too much trouble trying to keep her body under control to fight against Draco. Not at all worried about any damage he might be causing to her, Draco dragged her across the room and out of the door behind his father.

After a few minutes, they reached another room containing only a mouldering old mattress and a sheet: a makeshift bed for the prisoner. Draco dropped Hermione just inside the door. She lay there for a moment, still fighting the pain that was coursing through her, before attempting to pull herself up and drag her useless body towards the mattress.

Lucius and Draco watched her silently for a few minutes, Lucius attempting to assess the damage Bellatrix had caused.

‘I think you’ll survive, Mudblood,’ he said eventually, ‘at least for the time being. I can be generous when the mood takes me so I’ll give you chance to recover before I question you further.’ He turned on his heel and walked out of the door. ‘Come, Draco, leave the Mudblood alone.’

Draco followed him. The door slammed shut, leaving Hermione alone.

Overwhelmed by the ordeal she had just suffered at the hands of the Death Eaters, Hermione sobbed, amazed to hear the sound of her voice, something she had thought was gone forever. For a long time, she lay there, the tears falling, her pain and grief erupting in a never-ending stream of sobs as she waited for her body to begin the slow process of recovery.

Several hours later, now silent and no longer shaking — or at least not so much — Hermione finally crawled slowly and painfully across the floor to the makeshift bed. She sank gratefully onto the soft mattress, the cotton material cool against her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, willing her body to allow her this escape so it could repair itself.

She had no idea when Lucius would be back, but she needed to prepare herself mentally even if she couldn’t prepare herself physically, and to do that she needed the pain to recede. Sleep would help to remove the fatigue she was feeling from fighting the effects of the curse for so long.

Her last thought before dropping off to sleep was of Ron and Harry. How would they ever find her, tucked away in some unknown room far away from the main living area of the manor? 


	3. 31st March 1998

‘Wake up, Mudblood.’

Hermione gasped as she woke up, shocked awake by a mixture of Lucius Malfoy’s harsh voice and the glass of cold water he had just thrown over her. She jumped as the water hit her, crying out as her body complained bitterly about her sharp movement. Moaning more quietly she tried to sit up, forcing herself to ignore the sharp spikes of pain that shot through her with every movement. At least she could move, which was a definite improvement over the previous day.

‘You’re looking better,’ Lucius said, ‘at least better than you were after Bella finished with you.’ He gave her a nasty smile. ‘Did you sleep well, Mudblood?’

Hermione rubbed her eyes, then looked balefully at Lucius. ‘I’ve had better,’ she said, her voice rough and scratchy.

She watched as Lucius filled the glass with water from a jug he was holding. She waited tensely for him to throw it at her again but instead, he bent down and offered her the glass. Slowly, she reached out to take it, suddenly desperate for a drink to soothe her parched mouth. Her hand was still shaking and she had to concentrate really hard in order to grip the glass.

For a moment she thought Lucius would pull it away — another way of torturing her — but he didn’t; and although her shaking hand caused a lot of the water to spill she did finally manage to get the glass to her lips. The cool water caused her to moan, this time with pleasure, as it trickled into her mouth.

‘I did intend to question you about the Order of the Phoenix,’ Lucius said once she had finished drinking. ‘But having been through that rather interesting handbag of yours, I realised there’s no point. You obviously haven’t had any contact with them for some time. So tell me: what have you been doing for the last few months, Mudblood?’

Hermione gazed at Lucius as she tried to work out what to say. She didn’t want to give away anything that might help him. She tried to remember whether the bag had contained anything incriminating.

‘We were camping,’ she said unhappily. ‘We’ve been camping ever since we left the Ministry of Magic. We’ve been moving around the country.’

‘And why were you doing that?’ Lucius asked, looking faintly disgusted. He tried to imagine what it would be like to spend several months under canvas but couldn’t even begin to think about it. ‘What were you looking for?’

‘We didn’t have any choice,’ Hermione said bitterly. ‘We couldn’t go back to Grim — where we were staying, not after Yaxley grabbed hold of me.’

‘Ah yes, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place,’ Lucius said smugly, ‘ancestral home of the Blacks and headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix; if I’m not mistaken.’

‘I doubt it is any longer,’ Hermione said.

‘Well, no, of course not,’ Lucius conceded. ‘So what were you looking for? What made you go to the Ministry of Magic?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘I don’t know why we went there. Harry thought perhaps we could find out what was going on.’

‘Liar!’ Lucius said coldly. ‘You went to the Ministry for a reason. You stole a necklace from Dolores Umbridge. What happened to the necklace, Mudblood?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘I don’t know what happened to it. I think it was in the tent when the Snatchers grabbed us. I can’t remember.’ She held her hands to her head as if in pain. ‘I’m sure it was in the tent.’

‘And why were you carrying the painting?’ Lucius asked curiously.

‘What?’ Hermione was confused for a moment then remembered Phineas Nigellus Black.

‘The painting of Phineas Black. You had it in your handbag.’

Hermione sighed. ‘The painting was spying on us when we were at Grimmauld Place. The headmaster was a Slytherin and we didn’t want him finding out what we were planning so I put it in my handbag. I forgot to take it out again.’

‘Where were you going to go if you hadn’t been caught by the Snatchers?’

‘I don’t know. To be honest we were just moving around, trying not to stay too long in any one area so we wouldn’t get caught. There wasn’t really a plan.’

‘I don’t believe you, Mudblood. Potter was told by Dumbledore to do something and you were with him, following his orders. What were you doing?’

‘I don’t know what we were doing,’ Hermione said with a sigh, sounding petulant now. ‘Harry didn’t tell us. We were just there to keep him company and help him when he asked.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’ Lucius asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged. ‘It’s true. We only knew that Dumbledore had given Harry a quest; he didn’t tell us what it was.’ She glared at Lucius. ‘In case we got caught and tortured, I suppose.’

‘You’re obviously determined not to tell me anything,’ Lucius said his voice steely.

‘I can’t tell you anything,’ Hermione said adamantly. ‘I don’t know anything.’

Lucius bent down so his face was only a few centimetres away from Hermione’s. ‘Perhaps I should give you back to Bellatrix,’ he said. He felt a ripple of pleasure run through him at the look of terror that crossed Hermione’s face when he spoke.

Hermione shook her head. ‘Please don’t,’ she begged, the tears coming to her eyes as she thought of the pain she had suffered, the pain she still hadn’t quite recovered from.

Lucius considered for a moment. ‘No, actually I’ve got a better idea.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘I know how well you and Draco have always got on. Perhaps I should give you to him instead.’

‘Give me to Draco,’ Hermione repeated. ‘What do you mean, give me to Draco?’

Lucius bent closer, his nose almost touching hers. ‘What do you think I mean?’ he asked coldly. ‘I will give my son permission to do absolutely anything he wants with you.’ He moved back, even more pleased with the look of disgust and fear on Hermione’s face. ‘Do you think he’d like that, Mudblood? I think so, don’t you?’

Hermione tried to stop the tears that had been trying to break out since Lucius had threatened her with Bellatrix. The idea of being tortured by that mad bitch again was terrifying but it was nothing compared to what Draco could do to her. Bellatrix was attacking her purely for being Muggle-born and would use the Cruciatus Curse on her repeatedly until Hermione’s mind cracked and she no longer cared what happened to her. But with Draco it was personal — almost seven years of personal — and given carte blanche, what torture wouldn’t he proceed to use against his greatest enemy? Madness might be the end result but he could cause her a considerable amount of pain without going anywhere near breaking her mind.

‘Oh dear, not so keen on that idea?’ Lucius asked in mock sympathy. Then he grinned again. ‘I’m actually looking forward to seeing what my son comes up with. Seven years of humiliation by a filthy little Mudblood will have given him plenty of ideas, I’ve no doubt.’

Hermione didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say. There was no point in pleading. It would afford Lucius amusement but it wouldn’t stop him from handing her over to Draco. All she could do now was hope Draco would kill her sooner rather than later. She no longer believed she had a chance of being rescued by Harry and Ron. Even if they somehow managed to escape from the cellar they were being held in, they would never be able to find her buried away somewhere in the midst of Malfoy Manor.

‘And once Draco’s finished with you, assuming there’s anything left of you by then, you can take your place at the Dark revel.’ Lucius leant close again. ‘And then we won’t even have to worry about disposing of your body.’

He stood up.

‘I’ll be back for you shortly, Mudblood. Feel free to consider what treats my son might have in store for you.’

Lucius strode out of the room, closing the door as he went. Hermione could feel herself shaking again but this time with fear, not with pain. Was there any chance she would be able to talk to Draco, to convince him not to hurt or maybe even kill her? She knew there wasn’t. Their hatred for each other ran too deep for that sort of ending.

By the time Lucius returned, bringing Draco with him, Hermione was quiet — still terrified about what was going to happen, but resigned now to what was to follow.

‘She’s yours, Draco,’ Lucius said spitefully. His face crinkled into a smile as he looked at the expression of horror that crossed Hermione’s face again at his words. He loved the feeling he got when he saw that look. ‘You have my full permission to do whatever you wish with her,’ he added dismissively.

Draco walked swiftly to the makeshift bed where Hermione was sitting. Taking no notice of the bruises he had caused the previous day with his rough treatment of her, he grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. Hermione whimpered in pain but was in no state to fight back, especially once Draco took a handful of her bushy hair, too. Growling at her quietly, he dragged her from the room, heading, Lucius supposed, to his own bedroom.

Upstairs, Draco dragged Hermione across the room towards his bed, a little surprised at how easy she had been to manipulate. He had expected to have to curse her in some way to stop her fighting him. She must have been more badly injured than he had realised by the curses his aunt had cast. Good. That would make her easier to control.

‘Not so smug now, are you, Mudblood?’ he hissed nastily, his face only inches from hers as he pushed her down beneath him on the bed, straddling her body to ensure that she was unable to move.

‘I never was the smug one,’ Hermione whispered, gasping as Draco slapped her hard round the face at her comment.

Draco’s hand wrapped around her throat. ‘You were always smug, Granger; always thinking you were so much better at everything than me.’

His hand tightened a little, causing Hermione to grapple with it automatically in an effort to stop him from strangling her. She shook her head frantically. Draco watched her for a moment before releasing his grip. It wouldn’t do to kill her, not after he had waited so long for this moment.

‘Inferiority complex,’ Hermione croaked.

‘I’m not the one who’s inferior,’ Draco screamed furiously, his fingers squeezing once more at Hermione’s throat. ‘My blood is pure. It’s you that’s inferior, Mudblood!’

Again he released her, realising that in his anger he had nearly lost control.

‘Just kill me and have done with it,’ Hermione whispered with difficulty.

Draco could see the fear in her face. It would take him no more than a minute to grant her request, but that wasn’t in his plans. Torture — possibly; pain — certainly; but not death. He wasn’t having the stain of her death on his conscience. That could be provided by some other faceless Death Eater once Draco had finished having his fun.

He removed his hand from her throat completely to stop temptation and sat back, looking intently at her as her own hand reached up to rub at her sore neck. She gave a series of small coughs as if trying to clear her throat.

‘Oh yes, I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you? But why would I kill you, Mudblood?’ he asked maliciously, the smirk returning to his lips. He had drawn his wand now and was pointing it directly at Hermione’s face. ‘When you can give me so much more than that?’

Hermione lay where he had pushed her, blinking up unhappily at him, still rubbing at her throat.

‘Shall I curse you? How much more do you think you can stand, Mudblood? How close to madness did Aunt Bella bring you?’ He leant forward again, not touching Hermione but with his face once again only an inch or so away from hers. ‘Shall we find out?’ he whispered maliciously.

His smile grew at the small whimper that escaped Hermione’s lips. She was terrified that he was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on her. He sat back again, enjoying for a moment the ripple of pleasure that ran through him at the idea of the terror he was causing.

Should he do it? Should he give her a short blast of the curse, just enough to give her a sharp burst of pain and make her realise that he was serious, that he could do whatever he wanted and she could do nothing to stop him?

But how close _had_ Aunt Bella come to driving the Mudblood mad? What if he pushed her over the edge? Mad, she would be no fun at all; she wouldn’t realise what he was doing to her. No, better to leave that for the time being. That could always come later, once he had finished with the other torments.

His eyes grazed over Hermione’s scared face and down over her body, feeling her soft beneath him where he sat astride her. His thoughts turned to her friends currently trapped in the manor’s cellar. How would they react to seeing Granger now?

He could imagine the redhead, Weasley, always so protective of the Mudblood, squaring up to fight him — even though he was no real match. Pure-blood he may be, but his blood-traitor parents had left him woefully unprepared for real life. As for Potter. . . .

Draco was pulled away from the thought by movement from Hermione, who was wriggling in an attempt to get out of his grasp. He rather enjoyed the sensation of their bodies rubbing together. He smiled again. What a shame Weasley wouldn’t be here to see him get what Draco was sure the redhead had always wanted — Granger’s body.

‘Why are you struggling?’ he asked the unhappy girl. ‘You know you can’t get away. And you’re not going to trick me into killing you.’ His hand brushed over her filthy t-shirt. ‘Time to remove some clothes, I think.’

Hermione looked at Draco in horror. ‘No, please don’t, Malfoy,’ she begged quietly.

Draco laughed loudly. ‘Why on earth do you think you’re here, Granger?’ he asked as his hand pulled at the material of her top, drawing it up to reveal her bra and the soft, fleshy orbs encased within. ‘I distinctly remember my father saying I could do anything I wanted with you.’

Hermione gave a small squeak and closed her eyes.

‘You haven’t got a bad body, actually,’ Draco mused approvingly as he finished removing the t-shirt, his eyes still on Hermione’s breasts. ‘Bigger tits than Pansy; more curves, too.’

He moved against her once more, laying on top of her, his mouth by her ear as his hands swept her bushy mop of hair back from her face.

‘Quite pretty, in fact,’ he whispered, his mouth tickling at her ear, ‘without all that awful hair in the way.’

He rubbed against her again as he felt Hermione shiver beneath him. He was definitely becoming aroused, although he wasn’t sure whether it was the idea of Hermione naked or the fact that she was so clearly terrified of him touching her. Perhaps it was a mixture of the two.

‘Doesn’t this feel good?’ he asked as he rubbed against her again. Hermione made no sound. Well, he hadn’t expected a response. ‘Better without all the clothes, though, I think.’

He pulled back into a sitting position again, resting on his heels as he pointed his wand once more at a very upset-looking Hermione. With a flick of his wand and a muttered spell, her clothes were gone. A second later his were, too.

‘I don’t know what your problem is,’ he said as he watched Hermione try desperately to cover her breasts with her arm. After all, I’m sure you’ve shared your charms with the blood-traitor . . . or that idiot, Potter.’

‘No,’ Hermione said unhappily, shaking her head. ‘We’ve never—’ She was trying to sit up now, still trying to cover her body, but Draco was still sitting on her and stopping her from succeeding.

‘Well, what about Krum?’ Draco asked, looking at Hermione carefully.

‘What about him?’ Hermione frowned.

‘Oh, come on, Granger, he was on the Bulgarian National Quidditch team. Are you telling me you and he didn’t get it on?’

‘Of course we didn’t,’ Hermione said irritably. ‘I was only fifteen.’

Draco snorted. ‘So? What’s that got to do with anything? Pansy and I were at it like rabbits by then. I don’t believe you went out with him and didn’t do _anything_.’ His gaze was salacious and his voice matched. ‘Come on. Tell me what the two of you did. Did you give him a blowjob? Did he lick you in return? Did he get his fingers in there?’

‘No!’ Hermione shouted, eyeing Draco with disgust. ‘I told you, we did nothing. I only saw him a couple of times after the Ball — and those were in the Library. We didn’t do anything.’ She was still attempting to cover herself and sit up.

Draco looked at her with interest. ‘Nothing at all? So what about those idiots you call friends?’

Hermione didn’t answer, just shook her head in response. Draco leant in close, pushing Hermione back down onto the bed.     

‘So what you’re telling me,’ he said softly, the triumph evident in his voice, ‘is that you’re still a virgin.’

Hermione, who had squeezed her eyes tightly shut again at Draco’s closeness, gave the smallest of nods. Draco’s hand brushed down over her arm, pulling it away from her breasts.

‘Let me see you,’ he whispered. ‘Show yourself to me, Granger.’

Hermione shook her head once again but her arm stayed where it was and she shivered as Draco’s hand brushed over her left breast, squeezing as it went.

‘A virgin,’ Draco gave a snorting laugh. ‘Well, I have to admit I didn’t expect that. Still, lucky me, eh?’

His hand was now on the other breast, squeezing that, too, as he watched Hermione’s face. Her eyes were still screwed up tight and she looked extremely unhappy. His hand drifted back to her throat and for a moment she tensed, expecting him to throttle her again no doubt, but instead, he stroked her neck gently before his hand moved again, now brushing at her cheek.

‘I’m going to put down my wand,’ he told her quietly. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘No?’ Hermione’s quiet voice sounded disbelieving as she asked the question.

‘No. I did think about giving you pain, but I think pleasure will do the job so much better,’ Draco told her musingly. He saw an expression of disgust flit across Hermione’s face as he said that and he smiled as he moved away briefly to put his wand on the bedside cabinet. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he warned, but Hermione hadn’t moved. She lay just as he had placed her with her eyes still closed, although her lips were moving as she spoke rapidly but quietly.

Draco moved back again, his ear now by her mouth as he listened to her litany, the same words repeated again and again. ‘Please don’t hurt me . . . please don’t hurt me . . . .’

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Granger,’ he whispered in Hermione’s ear, making her jump. ‘Now open your eyes and look at me.’

For a moment Hermione ignored his request and Draco could feel his anger rising, that even now she was defying him. But then her eyes opened, the fear and pain still reflected in them, and she stared into his. He reached out his hand once more to stroke her face, trying to ignore the way she flinched as he touched her.

‘Everything is going to be fine, Mudblood, just as long as you do exactly what I say,’ Draco told her, not looking away from her for a moment.

‘You’re going to rape me,’ Hermione replied quietly.

‘No, I’m not,’ Draco said, a little surprised at his own words. ‘Interestingly, I seem to be constantly reassessing my opinion of you . . . and of what I’m going to do to you, Granger.’

‘If that’s true, then let me go — please, Draco,’ Hermione said. She wriggled again.

Draco laughed. ‘I said I’m not going to rape you. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to fuck you. I still have every intention of doing that. It’s just that you’ll want me to do it.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘Never,’ she told him unhappily. ‘Nothing could ever make me want you.’

‘Hmmm,’ Draco looked at Hermione appraisingly, trying to bite down the anger that had risen once again at her continued rejection of him. ‘Then we’re going to have a serious problem that needs sorting out. Because I am going to fuck you, and I can assure you that you will definitely want me to do it.’ 


	4. 1st April 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a quick interlude tonight. Dx

 

Lucius paused outside the door. He knew Draco wouldn’t be pleased if he knew his father was keeping an eye on him, but the desire to ensure that his son was acting in an appropriate manner overrode any worries about propriety. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he was spying on a lover’s tryst. His son was merely playing with the Mudblood; glutting himself on her body before she was taken away for the Dark revel.

He had known of his son’s desire for the Mudblood for years, however hard Draco had tried to keep it hidden under a veneer of disdain, and was well aware of the enmity that had built up between the two of them during their time at school. Broken and in pain from the curses cast upon her by his sister-in-law, the Mudblood’s worst nightmare was, Lucius had been sure, to be given to her nemesis as his plaything.

Lucius smiled as he recalled the look of abject horror on the Mudblood’s face as he had told Draco she was his, that he was free to do anything he wanted with her . . . anything at all. The cruel smirk that had slowly crossed his son’s face told him Draco already had plenty of ideas about what he wanted. No doubt he had fantasised about this moment for years.

He had left them alone for a day, needing to arrange the Death Eaters under his control in readiness for the Dark revel that was to take place in three days’ time. This was to be a major celebration for the Dark Lord now that his takeover of the Ministry of Magic was complete and he had successfully captured Harry Potter.

Lucius was a little surprised that the Dark Lord hadn’t immediately killed Potter when he had arrived at Malfoy Manor after Bellatrix called him, but for reasons known only to himself had instead insisted that the boy and his blood-traitor friend be incarcerated in the cellar until the night of the Dark revel. It was obvious that he intended to make a grand gesture in front of his faithful followers.

Preparations sorted, Lucius eventually made his way to the east wing corridor where his son’s bedroom was located and spied, using one of the many hidden spy-holes that dotted the manor, to see what his son was doing to the Mudblood. He hoped it was something creative and painful.

Lucius felt a little disappointed as he looked through the spy-hole. It appeared Draco and the Mudblood were asleep. At least there was no movement from the bed and no noise. He turned away.

He had been hoping to see some evidence that his son had used well what he had been given. Of course, he was going to use the Mudblood sexually; that was only to be expected after six years of almost daily provocation by the bitch. But he had hoped that Draco’s more sadistic side might have made an appearance, too.

If truth be told, Lucius was a little worried about his son’s level of devotion to the Dark Lord’s cause and his ability to do what had to be done. His failure to kill that meddling Mudblood-loving headmaster Albus Dumbledore had put doubts into everyone’s mind, and giving Draco the Mudblood to torture was Lucius’ attempt to prove that his son was up to the tasks the Dark Lord would be meting out with his imminent emergence. 

Lucius turned away from the wall and walked back down the corridor. He would need to check later that Draco wasn’t letting down the Malfoy family name once again with inappropriate behaviour with the Mudblood, and if need be he would have to sever the attachment.


	5. 3rd April 1998

‘I need you to promise me something,’ Hermione said. She turned in Draco’s arms, her face only inches away from his.

‘What?’ Draco’s tone was wary. ‘I can’t help you to escape, Hermione. You know what they’ll do to me if I even try.’

‘I know that.’ Hermione fixed her gaze on Draco’s eyes. They really were a beautiful colour and she could look at them forever. ‘I don’t want you to help me escape, Draco, at least not that way.’

‘Then what?’ Draco’s hand was stroking down her back now, his fingers brushing down the length of her spine, caressing her soft skin and causing goosebumps to rise all over her body.

‘When they try to take me away, you have to stop them,’ Hermione said quietly, ‘Please promise me you won’t let them take me to the Dark revel.’

Draco snorted with laughter, ‘The Dark revel? Why would they take you there? You’re mine. You have no need to worry about that.’

Hermione shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t think your father intends to let me stay here. And your aunt would be more than happy to kill me. She’s already shown that on more than one occasion.’

Draco hugged Hermione to him. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said. ‘My father was happy to give you to me and my aunt always does what he says.’

‘I’ve seen the way your father looks at me,’ Hermione countered, ‘with utter hatred. There’s not a single ounce of compassion anywhere in him, Draco. I think he could change his mind about me on the spur of the moment, especially if he sees that you’re not living up to his expectations. He’s not going to be pleased that you’re not torturing or humiliating me. Remember, you only got me in the first place because he was so sure that being in your control would be my worst nightmare.’

Draco sighed and bent to kiss Hermione tenderly on the lips. ‘I think you’re worrying too much, Hermione. My father likes to make me happy, and you being here makes me happy. Why would he change that?’

‘Because this isn’t a nightmare for me,’ Hermione said honestly. ‘It should have been, and it was the first time — no, that’s not fair: the _idea_ of it was a nightmare. You were actually far more pleasant than I had ever imagined and you were considerate, which I certainly hadn’t expected. And that’s the problem.’

Draco pulled back and looked at Hermione in confusion. ‘What do you mean, that’s the problem?’

‘Do you think your father honestly expected you to treat me so well?’ Hermione asked. ‘That he thought you would seduce me and be nice to me? Of course he didn’t, Draco. He thought you hated me and had far more painful experiences in mind. That was the only reason he gave me to you rather than returning me to Bellatrix. He thought you would hurt me more than she would, and probably wouldn’t drive me mad doing it.

‘Your father expected you to rape and beat me up at the very least, like the good little Death Eater he so desperately wants you to be. But instead, you were tender to me, treated me kindly and considerately, and gave me more pleasure than I ever realised I could experience. And you continue to do so. Apart from that first hour or so we spent together you’ve always treated me as a lover, not as your captive — as an equal, not as an inferior and I can guarantee that won’t please your father at all. To him, I should be constantly cowering in terror and begging you not to hurt or kill me, while you take your pleasures as brutally as possible.’   

‘I can assure you that you don’t need to worry about it,’ Draco told her. ‘Regardless of how you think my father will react, I know him rather better than you, Hermione, and I know he wouldn’t really allow you to be hurt or killed.’

Hermione snorted. ‘He was happy enough to give me to you,’ she reminded Draco, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘And he was definitely expecting you to hurt me.’ She looked at Draco critically for a moment. ‘I still don’t quite understand why you didn’t.’

Draco’s face softened as he returned Hermione’s gaze. He reached out to stroke her face, pushing a lock of hair from it.

‘You weren’t anything like I’d expected,’ he said honestly. ‘I think I’d always been slightly attracted to you, had always found you more desirable than I wanted to admit, but I tried to bury it under my hatred for you and it worked pretty well. Initially, I really was worked up to hurt you after watching Aunt Bella and my father in action. But I’ll admit I was impressed at your determination not to let the pain beat you, however badly you were treated.

‘Once I got you alone, however hard I tried to hate you, to torment you, I just couldn’t. The seventeen-year-old horny bastard took over. What was the point of hurting you when I could get so much pleasure from you instead? By the time I’d undressed you, seen and felt your beautiful body, the idea that you were mine — that you were a virgin and I would be the one to teach you and give you pleasure — was far more infectious than the hatred had ever been.

‘I was going to be the one to have you, not Weasley or Potter — me, the one who had wanted you for so long but had repressed it so deeply — and I was determined that you wouldn’t hate me or be scared away, that you would want me as much as I wanted you. I needed you to want to stay with me, Hermione, not with your friends.

‘I'll admit it was close, though. You had infuriated me so much over the years that my temper was at breaking point when my father gave you to me, and you calling me inferior almost got you killed. But once I reined in my anger and the desire took hold, my pride meant that I had to win you over rather than use force against you. Then, afterwards, when you cried so deeply, my heart melted and I knew there was no way I would ever be able to hurt you.’

He leant over and planted a kiss on Hermione’s temple.  ‘Whatever happens, you’re mine,’ he whispered as he pulled her close.

Hermione sighed deeply, aware that as far as Draco was concerned the conversation was over. But she knew how Lucius looked at her, what he had threatened her with before, and she was convinced that Draco’s treatment of her was a test after his failure to kill Professor Dumbledore. And she knew for sure that Draco wasn’t treating her in a way that Lucius would be happy with.

She had been scared when Draco had dragged her to his room, only too aware of how his hatred for her had simmered inside him over the years. His relatively quick change towards her had come as a surprise. At first, she had been terrified that he would continue where his aunt had left off, driving her into madness as the memory of the Cruciatus Curse ravaged her still-painful body. But maybe even he had sensed how close she was to crossing the divide into madness so he had spared her that.

Although she had been sure then that Draco would rape her and at the very least a beating would follow, once again he had surprised her. Once his ego had finished talking, his soothing words had helped to stop her tears, replaced by the discovery that just as he had misjudged her, she too had been guilty of misjudging him.

With his candour and tenderness, she had realised that beneath all the brashness and the bluster he was just a man, and she was convinced he was as scared by what was happening as she was. That he found her attractive against everything he had ever believed in was obvious, and he needed her to want him in return.

As they had lain there on that first evening together, Hermione realised that Lucius giving her to Draco had, in fact, been a lucky break, not the nightmare she had originally thought and if her luck continued she could use it to her advantage.

As far as she knew Harry and Ron were alive and were surely still looking for a way to escape. With Draco pacified and better disposed towards her, surely he would see reason if the chance to escape with them arose. But to ensure that she would need to keep him happy and that meant giving in to his demands.

It had hurt at first, although Draco had tried to minimise that, too, proving himself to be a far better lover than she would ever have imagined he could be, and to her great surprise, it had been intensely pleasurable for her as well. Feelings she had never realised she could experience had raged through her body and soon she was crying again, this time not from terror or despair but from enjoyment. Draco was at an age where his appetite for pleasure was frequent but Hermione had found she didn’t mind. He was considerate and took her pleasure as seriously as his own, so even in this short space of time they had truly become lovers.

Hermione had wondered whether she should remind Draco of his father’s expectations but in truth, she had been enjoying not being subjected to pain, humiliation and hatred and was unwilling to do anything that would return Draco to his previous state. Her body was still recovering from her time with Bellatrix, so although she worried that Lucius might discover his son’s lack of enmity towards his captive, she had spent the last couple of days pretty much doing nothing but sleeping and having sex.

But earlier that day Draco had discovered that Harry and Ron had managed to escape with the help of Dobby the house-elf, and to Hermione, this meant everything had changed. Not between her and Draco; he had no intention of giving her up, which in some ways was a comfort. But she knew it wasn’t enough.

Lucius, already filled with hatred towards her, would surely turn his wrath at her friends’ escape upon the only person left.

Hermione understood why they hadn’t tried to rescue her, too. Sequestered away in Draco’s rooms they would never have managed to get her out and escape the manor in the short time they would have had available — even if they had known where to find her, which was unlikely. It was possible that if Draco had known what was happening he might have helped her, but that wasn’t certain and she had hoped she would have had a little more time to convince him why she needed to get away before the escape attempt was made.

Now, although it hurt that she had been left behind, all she could do was hope her friends could get someone to come and rescue her before things turned bad. But who could they send? The Order of the Phoenix couldn’t risk attacking Malfoy Manor, and with the Ministry of Magic now under the control of Voldemort, no one knew who could be trusted any longer.

And now time was running out and there was the Dark revel coming. Hermione felt sure that in order to save face with Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy would make her the centre of attention, regardless of his feelings for his son.

She was a realist and knew she had no chance of escape. Asking Draco to help her do so was going too far. He would never go against his father when he was convinced the man would do the right thing, and if he did he would get into more trouble than she could bear for him to be put through.

Which really left only one solution. It was unpalatable, but something that had to be seriously considered.

She pulled herself free of Draco’s arms.

‘What are you doing?’ he moaned. ‘I was just getting ready to—’

‘This is important,’ Hermione cut in, her tone serious. She sat up and looked sternly at Draco.

Draco sighed. ‘Oh, not my father again, Hermione. I’ve told you, you’re perfectly safe. You’re with me.’

‘Yes, but Harry and Ron got away. You-Know-Who must be furious, and it’ll have put your family in a bad light with him again. Please, Draco,’ she pleaded. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

Draco shook his head. ‘I know you’ve always hated my father, Hermione, but I can assure you that however evil he seems he wouldn’t throw you to the wolves at the Dark revel. It’s Potter that the Dark Lord needs, not you.’

‘And if they thought it might get Harry there?’ Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head again. ‘They’re not that stupid. Even if he was tempted, Potter wouldn’t know where to go. They’re hardly going to leave pointers or the Aurors will be down on them like a ton of bricks. Really, Hermione, you’re worrying about nothing. You’re perfectly safe here.’

Hermione sighed and shook her head unhappily. ‘No, I’m really not,’ she said weakly, but she knew now that she was onto a losing battle with Draco. ‘Just promise me one thing, please, Draco — just one thing. When they try to take me away, you’ll stop them. Please don’t let them take me, or at least give me a way to defend myself against them when they do.’

Hermione’s eyes bored into Draco’s, willing him to see how scared she was. Draco looked back at her, his face set with a scowl.

‘I don’t need to promise,’ he said coldly.

‘Then you don’t care about me at all?’ Hermione asked sadly.

Draco gave an incredulous bark of laughter. ‘How can you say that?’ he countered. ‘Haven’t I shown you how much I care for you? How much pain have you had since you’ve been with me? After everything, can you really believe that?’

‘Then promise me, Draco, please. That’s all I’m asking.’ Again Hermione’s eyes bored into his until eventually, Draco turned away.

‘All right. If it makes you happy, Hermione, I promise,’ he said dismissively. ‘Now come here.’

Hermione lay back down and slid into Draco’s arms. He had promised to help her. Now she just needed to hope that when it came to it, he would keep his word.


	6. 4th April 1998

‘But you said I could keep her.’ Draco’s voice was bitter as he glared at his father.

‘This isn’t my decision,’ Lucius replied loftily, although Draco didn’t believe that was true since his father avoided looking him in the eyes as he said it. ‘Now let her go, Draco. There’s no need to be stupid about this.’

Draco glanced at Hermione, seeing the fear in her eyes. She had been right again; stupid of him to doubt it, really. For a second he pondered refusing to release her but he knew there was no point. There were too many of them. They would take her anyway, and then there would be pain — for Hermione as well as for him.

‘Help me,’ Hermione mouthed.

‘Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, son,’ Lucius said. ‘She’s only a filthy little Mudblood, after all.’

Hermione looked at Draco, tears now flowing down her cheeks like a river. Her eyes were pleading and it broke his heart to look at her. He looked away from her, knowing what she was trying to communicate to him. He didn’t want to see it. Slowly, he shook his head and released her to the custody of the waiting men. They pulled Hermione from him roughly and she struggled as they dragged her off the bed, manhandling her into a standing position before starting off towards the door.

‘Don’t hurt her,’ Draco said, his voice full of pain. ‘She doesn’t deserve it.’ To Hermione, he said, ‘Hermione, please don’t give them a reason to hurt you.’

‘Please, Draco, don’t let them do this,’ Hermione begged, her voice ragged with tears. ‘Please, save me.’ She whimpered in pain as the taller of the two men holding onto her slapped her hard across the face.

‘Shut up, Mudblood,’ he said coldly. ‘No one wants to hear your pathetic voice. Now come quietly or you’ll regret it.’

They continued to drag her across the room, Hermione still struggling with all the passion she had shown previously. The slap seemed to have done nothing to dampen her spirit. Draco, who had been watching the scene unhappily, got up from the bed and turned to his father, who had a tight, cold smile on his face.

‘What’s going to happen to her?’ Draco asked quietly.

Lucius shrugged easily. ‘She’ll be taken to join the others. It’s the Dark revel this evening. She will be used there — I know Crabbe and Goyle want a go at her.’ His smile became more perverse at the thought of the two gorilla-like men with the young witch. ‘I’m sure your Aunt Bella is eager to make her acquaintance once more, too. Anyone who wants to play with her can. Then she’ll be killed and disposed of with the rest of the vermin.’

‘But you said—’ Draco began, his voice full of anguish.

Hermione had known this would happen, he thought, and he — stupid fool that he was — had ignored her fears, so sure was he that she was wrong. He had been so convinced that whatever his father thought of the beautiful albeit annoying Muggle-born witch he would never actually kill her. But now Draco saw that Lucius was every bit as evil as Hermione had always said. To hand her over so callously to thugs like Crabbe and Goyle Senior and his aunt, knowing how they would treat her proved that. He had no choice. He had to help Hermione.

The taller man hit Hermione a second time, giving her a split lip which was bleeding profusely. She was sobbing loudly now but still fighting to get away.

‘But you said she was mine,’ Draco said angrily. ‘That I could do with her as I chose. I don’t _choose_ to send her to the Dark revel!’

‘I know what I said,’ Lucius replied soothingly. ‘But that wasn’t my decision to make.’ He still didn’t look at Draco as he said this. ‘Anyway, at least you got to have your fill of her before the rabble does. You have nothing to complain about. Surely you’ve fucked her more than enough.’

‘I want to keep her here with me,’ Draco said. ‘Why does she have to die?’

Lucius looked at his son with interest, a mean smirk crossing his face, ‘Affection for a Mudblood, Draco?’

Draco shook his head curtly, but this time it was his turn to avoid his father’s gaze.

‘She dies because the slut is already working her filthy Mudblood wiles on you,’ Lucius continued smoothly, disgust evident in his voice. ‘I saw the way you were with her — treating her as a lover, as an equal, not the piece of filth she truly is.’

‘You’re doing this because she wanted to be with me, aren’t you?’ Draco asked. ‘You don’t like the fact that she enjoyed having sex with me, that she was happy in my company. It doesn’t matter what her blood status is — it’s the fact that we were happy that’s caused this.’

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. ‘That has nothing to do with it,’ he replied stiffly. ‘The Mudblood dies with the others. That’s all there is to it.’

‘But they know where she is,’ Draco said, now looking at his father defiantly. ‘Potter and Weasley . . . and their friends. They know we’ve got her. If she turns up dead they’ll know we did it.’

Lucius laughed coldly. ‘Do you honestly think they’ll be alive to say anything?’ He looked imperiously at Draco as if daring him to argue. ‘Once the Dark Lord has finished with Potter and his friend they’ll be in the same state as the Mudblood — and with Him in charge, who will care about the death of one annoying, insignificant little Mudblood when so many more will be following her?’

‘But what if they’ve already told someone where she is? Surely we can’t take the chance. I mean, I know we can’t free her, but we could at least keep her here,’ Draco pleaded.

Lucius laughed coldly. ‘I can assure you, Draco, it will make absolutely no difference who knows she is here. The Dark revel is taking place elsewhere and the Mudbloods will be disposed of far away from our estate. If anyone were to ask — which they won’t — we just say she was taken away by Death Eaters. Anyway, there are far too many people who want to pay their respects to Hermione Granger for her to be excused from this evening’s festivities.’ Lucius’ eyes glinted wickedly. ‘I can promise you she will meet a truly spectacular end . . . full of pain, suffering and humiliation.’ 

Draco looked once more at the sobbing Hermione, still fighting against her captors. She was beautiful but bloodied — a fist to her face having broken her nose, adding copiously to the blood from her lip and the scratches that now covered her body. Her bushy hair was even more of a mess than usual, and although naked she held herself with a grace that made his heart soar with desire for her. Another hard thump from one of the Death Eaters holding her and her head bowed, her body seeming to crumple slightly. She was clearly only still standing because she was being held up.

‘Hermione,’ Draco called out as he walked towards her, his hand sliding the wand from the bedside table as he moved.

_Just let her look at me,_ he thought desperately. _Please, just let her look._

Hermione had stopped struggling with her captors now. She raised her head slowly to look at Draco. She was dizzy from the hard beating she had taken and her eyes were still swimming with tears, but she tried to focus on the sound of his voice and follow it. She reached her hands out towards him, her body language pleading for him to come to her, to touch her, to hold her, to help her — to free her from this hell she suddenly found herself in.

As Draco took another step closer to Hermione, Lucius grabbed his arm, pulling him back and holding him fast.

‘Let her go, Draco,’ he said warningly. ‘You can do nothing for her now.’

Draco ignored his father and stared directly at Hermione.

‘Hermione,’ he said again, his voice softer than before, the emotion seeping through.

Hermione returned Draco’s gaze, her tearstained face softening as she looked at him.  ‘Please, Draco,’ she said simply. ‘Save me.’

Draco gave the barest hint of a nod.

Hermione smiled beatifically. ‘Thank you, Draco.’ 

‘I love you, Hermione,’ Draco whispered, and he realised it was true. Whatever she may have been during his long time at school and however they may have fought over the years, right here, right now, Draco loved Hermione Granger with all his heart and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was doing the right thing — that he couldn’t let her be taken away by the Death Eaters.

‘ _Avada Kedavra!_ ’

A blast of green light shot from the end of Draco’s wand, hitting Hermione squarely in the centre of her chest before anyone had a chance to react. Still smiling, she dropped to the floor, dead.

The two Death Eaters who had released her when Draco had cast the Unforgivable Curse looked at him in stunned surprise.

‘What have you done?’ Lucius cried in horror, looking at his son. Draco’s arm was still up, wand extended as he gazed at the spot where only a second before his beautiful Hermione had stood.

‘You killed her!’ Lucius screeched. He shook Draco hard. ‘What did you do that for, you stupid boy? Why stain your soul for a filthy little Mudblood?’

Draco stared at his father. ‘Because I loved her,’ he replied evenly as if it was obvious.

He pulled away from Lucius and moved quickly to Hermione’s side. He dropped to the floor and pulled the dead woman into his arms, cradling her gently as his tears began to fall, not caring that his still-naked body was becoming covered in her blood.

‘. . . Because I loved Hermione Granger and I didn’t want her to suffer at the hands of people like you,’ he repeated as he looked down at the woman he loved.

He looked at Hermione’s face, so peaceful, the smile still on it. Her eyes were open. Draco gently closed them. There; now she looked as if she was sleeping. Brushing her hair down with his hand, he held her tightly, rocking her gently, seemingly now in his own little world.

‘Safe now, love,’ he said quietly, repeating the phrase over and over again.

The Death Eaters left. No longer needed, they were eager to be away from this room that was full of death. Lucius remained, watching his son as he continued to croon to Hermione, still holding her close to him.

He walked over to Draco and looked down at him imperiously, ‘All this for a Mudblood.’ His voice was full of disgust.

Draco shook his head. He looked up at his father his eyes still full of tears. ‘No. This was for love.’

Lucius gave a snort of disapproval. Saying no more, he walked from the room, leaving his son alone with the woman he had just killed.


	7. Epilogue

‘Time for you to meet Draco Malfoy, I think,’ Healer Willoughby said as he began to remove the wards from the door. When Melissa looked a little alarmed he gave a small laugh. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘he’s completely harmless.’

As they entered the room Melissa looked at Draco, her brain trying to process the story she had been told in comparison with the pale but good-looking man in front of her. Was it really possible that he had killed his lover? That this aristocratic-looking man was nothing but a cold-blooded murderer? And if he was a killer, how could he be considered harmless?

Draco rose from the armchair and walked towards the two Healers.

‘Good morning, Healer Willoughby,’ he said pleasantly, and he extended his hand politely to take the other man’s. He looked enquiringly at Melissa.

‘Good morning, Draco,’ Healer Willoughby said. He was smiling. ‘This is Healer Carpenter. She’s just joined us from St Mungo’s.’

Draco turned to look Melissa directly in the eyes as his hand took hers. His grip was firm but not unpleasant.

‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Healer Carpenter,’ Draco said with a smile. ‘I think you’ll find this place poses a rather different set of challenges to St Mungo’s.’

‘Thank you,’ Melissa said, trying not to blush at the intense stare Draco was giving her. He really was a most attractive man, and the way he looked at her made her feel as if he was reading her very soul. It made her feel at the same time both rather aroused and incredibly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy working here. I look forward to the challenges of being in a new place.’

Draco released her hand, and still smiling, he went back to sit in his armchair. He picked up a newspaper that was on a small table to the side of him and glanced briefly at the front page.

‘I hope you don’t mind if I get on,’ he said, holding up the newspaper. ‘I need to check my shares and then do some work.’ He looked at Healer Willoughby, his face showing just a touch of concern. ‘Unless you need me for something?’

Healer Willoughby shook his head. ‘No, you’re fine, Draco. I’m just introducing Healer Carpenter to the guests. We’ll leave you to get on.’

‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ Draco said sincerely to Melissa. He opened the newspaper and began flicking through it, obviously looking for the financial section. Healer Willoughby touched Melissa’s arm, indicating that they should leave. He opened the door and waited for her to go through before following.

Melissa waited, looking at Draco once more through the window while Healer Willoughby locked and warded the door.

‘Is he insane?’ she asked.

Healer Willoughby looked at her, his face expressionless. ‘What do you think?’

Melissa thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No. He seems completely sane to me.’

‘He is,’ Healer Willoughby confirmed.

‘You said he isn’t a danger,’ Melissa said musingly, following a thought. ‘How do you know?’

‘Look at him,’ Healer Willoughby said. ‘Does he look violent?’

‘No. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t. After all, what he did to his lover—’

‘We have only the Aurors’ reports of what he did,’ Healer Willoughby said. ‘And none of those were actual eyewitness accounts. They only saw him covered in blood, holding onto the body and talking to it, repeating the same phrase over and over again. Draco has never made a formal statement about the evening. He has always refused point-blank to talk about it, as have his family. For whatever reasons, his family have seen fit to leave him in here; and for his part, he has never made any attempt to be released.’

Melissa looked surprised. ‘So he might not even be guilty?’ she asked quietly.

‘Possible, but unlikely or I’m sure he wouldn’t have stayed here for so many years,’ Healer Willoughby said with a shrug. He sighed. ‘Anyway, whatever the truth of that evening may be, Draco clearly feels guilty and is punishing himself for Miss Granger’s death.’

‘Miss Granger? Not Hermione Granger?’ Melissa asked in astonishment.

Healer Willoughby nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. Draco’s lover was the friend of Harry Potter’s who disappeared shortly before the final battle. I know it was always assumed that she had been killed by Death Eaters; at least that’s what the history books tell us — and I suppose in one way she was. After all, the Malfoys _were_ Death Eaters.’

‘But how could the Aurors keep that quiet? I mean — her parents—’

‘Had been Obliviated by their daughter and sent to live in Australia before Miss Granger was even captured by the Malfoys,’ Healer Willoughby said gently. ‘They didn’t even know they had a daughter. And Draco was under lock and key, so nothing further needed to happen.’

‘So he’s been here all this time and he’s never had an outburst? Never talked about what happened? Never re-lived it or got violent? Never attacked anyone?’ Melissa asked, still trying to get her head around the shock of finding out who Draco’s lover had been.

She had read a lot about Hermione Granger when she had been at school and had been rather a fan of the intelligent girl. Melissa had spent many hours imagining that Harry Potter’s friend had died fighting bravely, trying to escape from Death Eaters after their capture by the round-up gang. To find that she had actually been killed in some sort of lover’s tiff was just unbelievable.

‘No. Oh — actually there was one occasion.’ Healer Willoughby mused. ‘It was about five years after his incarceration. His father came to visit him.’

‘What happened?’ Melissa asked curiously.

‘Of course, this was before my time at Cadenza, but as I understand it Draco punched his father in the mouth,’ Healer Willoughby said. ‘I think Lucius was rather shocked. He left immediately and never returned.’

‘Does he ever have any visitors?’ Melissa asked. She turned to look through the window again.  

Draco had moved from the armchair to the table and was now poring over the columns of the financial pages whilst making notes on a stack of parchment. He seemed completely engrossed in what he was doing.

‘Some. Occasionally he gets visitors to do with his work. Draco runs several successful companies. He never receives any personal visitors, though, as far as I’m aware. Certainly, none of his family has ever visited since Lucius.’

Melissa’s heart went out to the good-looking man working away quietly in his room. How must it feel to have been alone for so long? And why had he hit his father? Was his father the cause of Hermione’s death? Had Lucius Malfoy actually been the one to kill her and used his son as a scapegoat, locking him away for all those years, alone and in pain at the death of his lover?

‘But if he’s no danger to anyone—’ she began.

‘Why haven’t we released him?’ Healer Willoughby asked astutely.

Melissa nodded. ‘I mean, he’s obviously fine. And he’s been here for so long. And if it’s never been proved that he killed Hermione . . . .’

‘We keep him here for his own good,’ Healer Willoughby said, looking serious. ‘If we don’t take care of him he’ll die. If he’s left alone he doesn’t look after himself at all. He won’t eat or drink, he won’t even take care of himself hygiene-wise. We tried it once a few years ago, tried to rehabilitate him with a view to possibly releasing him. But as soon as he was left alone to fend for himself he did nothing but sit on the floor, in the position he was in the night he was found at Malfoy Manor. Nothing we could do would convince him to live. So we brought him back here where we could look after him. He’s no trouble and the family pay a great deal of money for his welfare. So here he’ll stay . . . for the foreseeable future at least.’

‘But what if he didn’t kill her?’ Melissa asked. ‘What if it was an accident or something? What if his father killed her? Perhaps that’s why Draco hit him.’

Healer Willoughby shrugged. ‘It really doesn’t matter that this stage. Draco can’t be released and will probably never be released.’ He looked intently at Melissa for a few moments, a frown of concern settling on his face. ‘Melissa, I have to ask you to promise not to stir things up with Draco Malfoy. Please don’t go looking for answers. They won’t help him and you could actually make things worse.’

Melissa felt annoyed that Draco had been in the hospital for over twenty years without any attempt being made to discover whether he had even been the murderer. But if it was true that he refused to care for himself then it really didn’t matter whether he was guilty or not. Draco obviously believed himself guilty and that was enough.

‘I promise,’ Melissa said sadly as she glanced one final time through the window at the working figure of Draco Malfoy.

Then she turned away and followed Healer Willoughby back down the corridor towards the main facility.


End file.
